Puddles Of Ice Cream
by Reno Keehl
Summary: It is the final magic hour for Zexion and Marluxia as they pass their last day together in Silmulated Twilight Town. Will the taste they exchange be enough to remember each other by? Parting has such a bittersweet taste.
1. Chapter 1

It was an early summer day in Simulated Twilight Town where number six and number eleven ventured. The town was partially deserted when the two organization members first stepped foot into it, but now it did not seem to be such a problem. The silence was pleasant to Zexion and he did not find the need for noise, and for once, Marluxia agreed with him.

The two sat wordlessly at the top of a building over looking Station Heights as they gazed into the artificial sunset. Soon the town would be cloaked in darkness, and after the darkness is lifted, they will be parting ways for good. Zexion found this somewhat troubling; however Marluxia did not seem to mind. Nothing about him gave sign that he was against leaving, but he so clung to Zexion that it was deeply confusing for the short one.

"You know…you do not need to follow me everywhere like this. It's annoying." Zexion finally pointed out, finding the need to break the silence now.

His green eyes narrowing as he smiled, Marluxia turned to look at Zexion. "So? Maybe I enjoy getting on your nerves." He laughed as he watched the shorter one cringe at his remark.

_If only you could stay with me like this a little longer…_

The purple haired boy stood up and looked onto the horizon with a stern face. The gentle summer breeze danced with strands of his hair as he started to speak. "You do realize that after this, you are no longer going to exist, do you not, Marluxia?" Number six asked, not bothering to look back at the other.

With a deep sigh, Marluxia too stood and flipped his long pink hair. "I never existed. You…me… all of us… We never existed. I think I will manage." Marluxia noted with a half smile. "But you know, it would have been nice if we could have been real. Don't you think so?"

"Hmm…" The shorter one sounded as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why Twilight Town? Why have this be your burial ground?" Zexion questioned, spinning around to face the taller pink haired member.

"Well…" Marluxia started, shuffling his feet bashfully. "It reminds me of you."

"What the hell? How does this place remind you of me?" Zexion retorted, his visage furrowing angrily as if insulted.

Without an immediate answer, Marluxia strolled right over to Zexion's side and sat down. "It doesn't exist."

"…You don't either…" Number six scoffed as he inched away from his sitting friend. "Anyhow… I think you should have picked a better place to spend your last day…"

"Hey, let's get some ice cream." Marluxia said, suddenly changing the subject.

"What?"

"You heard me. Let's get some ice cream." The pink haired assassin repeated as he took a stand once again. "C'mon… I know you have short legs, but you shouldn't be _that _slow." He said tauntingly before taking a leap off of the building and making a dash down the street and up the ramp to Market Street.

Sneering irritably, Zexion chased after number eleven. Once he caught up to him in Market Street, the taller pink haired member had already bought three bars of sea salt ice cream. Giving the grinning pink haired man an annoyed glare, Zexion sighed before asking, "Why did you get three? There are only two of us."

"I'm taller. I get to eat more. So, two for me, and one for you." Marluxia teased as he gave one of the three ice cream bars to Zexion and quickly returned to lick the side of the one in his right hand before stopping a drip from the one in his left.

"You…" Zexion started, his body shuddering slightly from fury. Taking a deep breath, he calmed down. Being with Marluxia for extended periods of time had a way of raising his blood pressure, but he did not necessarily mind. Infact, he kind of enjoyed it. Marluxia was just lucky that Zexion was as patient as he is otherwise, there would be a serious problem. "…agitate me so much." The short one scoffed before licking at his ice cream.

"Zexy, this ice cream is weird tasting… Do you want mine?" Marluxia cringed as he held the bar in his left hand away from him as if it was a diseased object.

His eyes narrowing, Zexion glared at Marluxia and growled, "No, I do not want your nasty half-eaten ice cream. Next time, you shouldn't get two unless you know you like it."

"But I know you like it." Marluxia grinned devilishly as Zexion forcefully snatched the ice cream bar out of his hand. "See?"

"Shut up…" Zexion muttered as he hesitatingly licked at Marluxia's ice cream bar. _It taste like flowers…Wait, how would I know what flowers taste like? Do they taste the way they smell? _For some reason unknown to him, the ice cream bar that Marluxia just recently handed him tastes better than the other one he's been eating. Unable to comprehend that, Zexion's brows furrowed.

"What, am I really that gross to you? Honestly, that is quite insulting, that look on your face. Personally, I know that I am quite gorgeous. You can't deny it." Marluxia said, twirling a lock on pink hair in his finger as he sucked on the ice cream bar he held in his right hand.

"No…it's just that…it's really good…" Zexion said, his eyes widening in confusion.

"Do you want this one too, then?" Marluxia offered, looking as if he was about to upchuck.

"Yes, but you have to take this one…" Zexion said quietly, switching his original ice cream bar with the one in Marluxia's hand. "You have to eat it all, okay?" The short one said as he finished the first bar that Marluxia gave him and started on the second. The second bar had even more of a flowery aroma. Zexion shuddered at the taste of it.

Watching Zexion eat, Marluxia observed his behavior. "Hey, Sexion, you look like your having an orgasm over there… What's up with that?" He asked with a sly look on his face.

"Shut up! It's just good ice cream!" Zexion retorted as he turned away.

Marluxia laughed before tasting the ice cream bar that Zexion handed him. "Hey, Sexion, do you use some kind of strawberry breath mint?"

"What? I don't know… I use that…Oh dear, Lexaeus…" Zexion's voice trailed off as he made a thoughtful face. "That might have been that… But I brushed my teeth since then, you know…"

"What?" Marluxia asked with his green eyes opened wide. "What the hell does Lexaeus have anything to do with this?"

"Well, he made me do this…" Zexion said quietly before engulfing the ice cream bar with his mouth and making some inappropriate gestures with his tongue. Number eleven just stood with his mouth wide open. Obviously, there was something about his friend he had yet to know. "And that's not all…"

"Okay! Unless you want to show me first hand, I'd rather not hear anymore." Marluxia said, cutting Zexion off in case he was going to he was going to tell, or rather, show him more. "So, you two… are you in love?"

"Cut it out, Marluxia. We are nobodies. We can't love." Zexion sneered as he finished his ice cream in an acceptable manner.

Marluxia grew quiet before rushing forward and locking lips with Zexion. The short one's arms flailed about as if pleading for life. Though his body seems to want freedom, he thoroughly enjoyed the taste inside Marluxia's mouth. It was the same taste as the two ice cream bars he had given him; flowers and sea salt ice cream. Soon his body gave in and he laced his fingers behind Marluxia's neck, only to find that number eleven would pull away all too soon.

Pulling back, Marluxia frowned. "Did you feel anything?"

"Um…maybe. Did you?"

"Kind of… I think I liked it." The member with the pink hair muttered under his breath. "It was…"

"Like ice cream."

_If only you did not have to melt away like ice cream in my mouth… I pray to keep you, and if I had a heart, I would give it to you._


	2. Chapter 2

On some days, I feel as though I would immediately disintegrate if I should take a step outside my house. On days like these, I lay in bed for hours,not moving a muscle, not making a sound. I lay there, just barely existing. The world outside is passing me by.

On days like these, music can kill me, and I try to sleep away my pain. I cannot get out of bed, but sleep is impossible to achieve for every time I close my eyes, all the things I fear materializes to me; I am frightened. I am haunted by all the little things that I have secretly feared. One by one, they slip pass my mind's defense to unleash their monstrosity. Through the rusty gates of my memories, they attack, each strike causing my fingers to grasps at my hair, and I scream silently to the empty room.

My limbs are trembling. The freezing sun never reaches out to me. It knows that I do not like it, and it purposely mocks me. Outside my window I know that the rest of town is drenched in its rays. I know outside of this box, people are living, not merely existing. But this is my box...Although I did not create it, I cannot seem to recall a time when I did not live here. It had been nearly five years since I have been caged,but I somehow convinced myself that it had not been long at all. I have made myself blind to the illness. This place has infected me, and I cannot grow.

On days like these, I touch my fingers to the glass and yearn to grow wings. I wish I could tie myself to a bouquet of balloons and leap into the air, but I am trapped inside my own body, and I become my worst enemy. I think, if I should be able to break from this shell, perhaps I should blossom more beautifully. But I forgot about the virus that had sealed my fate. Even if I should shed from this skin, my core is still sick. And should I ever grow wings, they would be broken and too weak to fly away from here. Still, on days like these I gaze up at the constant sky and pray that I may be able to spontaneously take flight.

On days like these, time does not seem to exist, but the songs I play are proof. Time is actually drifting away quite mercilessly. The grey sky gets increasingly darker; and now I cannot tell walls from windows. Nothing ever changes here, and I am left with unexplainable pains from phantom memories. Time does not seem to exist here, but I am getting older and older as I speak.

I feel trapped by time though. I feel like I can neither move forward nor recoil. I cannot advance into a greater plane, nor can I regress into something more primitive. I am stuck here, in this limbo stage of life. I feel as though all my thoughts and all my words are also stuck here, and regardless of how desperately I try, my voice cannot be heard by anyone, myself included.

On days like these, I lay inside myself for hours, often times contemplating my value, On days like these, more often than not, I dissect myself to examine the countless malfunctions within. Today, I am observing my phobias. Yesterday, I diagrammed my weaknesses, and tomorrow I will analyze my regrets. I lay inside myself for hours,and still I come up with no conclusion as to what is wrong with me. I say my disease was contracted from this place that I now reside, but I cannot find the source within me.

I look at all the things that I hate, and I try to find a cure for each and every one. But...in the end, the only remedy that I can conjure is Blame. It is your fault, her fault, his fault, their fault. The remedy requires everyone but me... I am never to blame. But still, more often than pointing the finger, I look in the mirror and sneer at the image on the other side. It is my fault, my fault, all of this is my fault.

On days like these, I cry about scars long faded. With each second of the clock, each progress of a verse, something more heart wrenching comes back to my memory. The sorrows that I thought were long buried with time revitalizes; my heart aches the same. I cry for death, I cry for living, but mostly I cry for whatever stage it is that I am in. I cry for the life that had left those amber eyes long ago, and I cry for the girl that sits staring out the window for days on end. I cry for the lost of a childhood that never was, and royal family ever broken. I cry for the child surrounded by dolls, and for the songs that were never sung. I cry for the bird with the broken feathers and the princess with no name. I cry for the king of yesteryear, the empress of defeat. They always catch both my fancy and my pity on days like these.

I cannot feel my body, and I am walking on air. My head is stuck in inked storm clouds, and I cannot tell dreams from truth. I drift in and out of consciousness with only the hope that I may remain unconscious longer and longer each time. I do not know where I am, nor do I know my own name. I lose my identity in the confusion, and I am stranded, unable to arrive at my destination, unable to return from which I came.

On days like these, there is so much to question, but so few answers, and even fewer voices to say. I talk to myself, but I too am drowned out by the melancholy. I close my eyes to let some stray tears escape, then I sigh. I scream into my pillow, but the pillow suffocates me temporarily, and I die a little more. I punch the walls, but my fists begins to bleed. I find no comfort in violence.

Instead, I hide away under my covers and lay perfectly still like dead. I hold my breath and count to ten, and then I start all over again. I try everything to break the monotony, but still I cannot seem to find a way. I roll on the floor, I jump on the chair, but no matter what I do, I am faced with a vacant stare; my own. I laugh before I cry...still my sadness is not conveyed.

On some days, I just want to crawl into your arms and die. On days like these, I am terrified of myself. I want so much to jump, to bleed, to disappear...to die. I do not trust myself with a pen, and I flinch at the sight of steel. I have taken every pill in the cabinet and drank all the syrups too. I have been here before so many times, but still I cannot find my way out. I have been here so many times before, but still I make the same mistakes again.

I ponder whether or not my absence would be missed,would be noticed. I usually come to the same conclusion that perhaps I would be mourned for, but within months I shall be replaced. I ponder further whether it makes a difference should I live or die. I have always been so little and insignificant. I doubt that my absence would matter much to anyone. Although I know this much to be a lie, I hold onto the bitterness on days like these.

On days like these, my thoughts of you are intensified. I call your name just to hear it echo in the vast abyss of my world. Reaching out for the picture frame, I look at how happy we are together, and I remind myself that I will be happy yet. I hear your voice on the other line, and even though it is but a recording, my spirits are suddenly lifted and I am somewhat at ease. I pacify myself by an excessive message, telling you nothing at all, and then I hang up.

You call back, on days like these, just knowing that I am in trouble, and immediately you come to my aid. You offer your perfect-to-me smile, and you jest and tease. You do whatever it is that you do, and I stop dying. Perhaps a hint of life returns to my eyes and I just do not see. On days like these, you are the only thing in the world that could rescue me.


End file.
